Saturday, April 16, 2011
Roughstock: And a Smile -- Coke's Clown
Coke and Dillon just won't shut up -- starting immediately after Roughstock: File Gumbo, Coke's Clown shows the aftermath of Sam Bell's injury, of Coke's guilt, and brings up questions about Coke's past.
This is the first in a trilogy of books focusing on Coke and Dillon, outside the Jason Scott arc. It wrote like a dream and they're already clamoring for book #2.
They're going to have to wait for Adam Taggart, though.
Official blurb-type stuff:
Bullfighter Coke is having a rough time in the Roughstock universe. When his dear friend Sam Bell is injured at the finals of the bullriding season, he takes that, and his injuries, pretty hard. His very own clown, Dillon, is determined to take care of Coke, which is tough when Coke is usually the one to care for everyone. Can Dillon get Coke to take a little downtime and recover?
Get it here: http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=3117
"We shoulda got to him, Nattie."
"I know, Hoss."
Coke blinked at the tumblers, then at the mostly empty bottle of Jack. There was a third, for when they finished this one. It took some blinking, but he got the booze in the glasses, the image of Sammy Bell bloodied and broken and convulsing in the chute clear as a movie in his mind.
"We shoulda got to him. Why the fuck didn't we get to him?"
"Because we're human, Gramps."
Coke Pharris snarled a little, glaring at the little Aussie. Fred was a dear, but he was fucking annoying and a little goddamn stupid. "We cain't be fucking human. We gotta be better. Gotta be bigger, damn it."
The whiskey burned all the way down.
"So, what, you're going to be monster, Coke?" Dillon appeared, looking washed out, almost transparent.
"How's Sammy?" He tried to stand up, stumbling into Nate. He could see Tracy behind Dillon, fluttering a little.
"He's out of surgery. They say that part went well." Dillon took him when Nate passed him over, hands on his arms.
"I want to go back to the hospital, then. Sit with the Cajun. Pray."
That bull'd come around and tossed Nattie like a bag of potatoes. He hadn't even seen Sammy drop into the chute.
"No." Dillon's voice was flat, a little hard. A lot exhausted. "No, you need to rest. You have to work tomorrow. All of you."
"I c'n work. What 'bout you, Nattie?" He didn't need nobody to tell him what the fuck to do. He didn't...
"Hoss. We done drunk two bottles. My lady needs me." Nattie's face was a little blurry-like.
Damn. Even Natty was letting him down. Dillon's fingers tightened until Coke felt them dig in.
"Come on, babe."
He growled, stumbling a little through the unfamiliar sitting room. Shit, he didn't even know where the fuck he was.
"Steady." Dillon led him out into the hall and he remembered. The hotel hospitality room in the convention area. Shit. He was sloshing.
"I need to go back to the hospital and see Sammy. Tell him I'm sorry."
"Coke, he's not awake. They're gonna keep him under until the swelling goes down." Dillon sounded like he was talking to a child.
"I got his blood all on me. Jase didn't bleed none."
"No. No, he didn't. Sammy's scalp peeled back." Dillon had blood on him, too. Coke vaguely remembered Dillon pulling him off Sam when the EMTs came.
He nodded, or tried to. Jesus, there were sore spots. Bone. There'd been bone. And so much fucking blood. And he should've got to Beau, to Sammy.
"Coke. Damn it, babe, would you listen to me?" Dillon stopped by the elevator, shaking him a little.
"Whut?" He frowned up at Dillon, trying to focus.
"You need to pay attention. One foot in front of the other." Man, Dillon was multiplying.
"I think I oughta sleep here for a few minutes." He couldn't keep a bunch of Dillons happy. He didn't have enough cocks.
"No, babe. We need to sober you up a bit before you sleep."
"Sam Bell got hurt bad. We tried to get to him." He was tired of not saving 'em.